He was a Poet sure, a Lover too
by werewolf.love
Summary: Surely the thing of nightmares for Ron. When Hermione insists that Snape and the loathed Draco Malfoy join them on their mission, Ron can't ever imagine the Slytherin's presence tolerable...until he, of course, changes his mind. Rated M for later chapter


Disclaimer: I own none of these characters. I only steal them from Jo and make them all gay, but who can complain about that?

Author's Note: This story is meant to be longer than my pervious ventures on this site and I fully intend to complete this one (and all others eventually). Pairings for the story are yet to be revealed or even hinted but I will say that there is both SLASH and HET, and okay FEMSLASH simply because that is what HP FF is all about. But for the sake of having a category to put this bloody thing into, for the moment it is Ron/Draco.

Summary: Last Rowling left everyone's favorite professor, he was running away from a fuming Harry while both blocking his spells and trying to get Draco to safety. Harry's pissed ( as usual) at his former teacher and wants to kill him. This is all fine and okay until one evening Harry, Hermione, and Ron encounter a group of Death Eaters...and two with the mark save their lives...

* * *

Chapter One

On an ordinary night, outside of an ordinary looking pub, there stood two extraordinary looking men clad in loose sweaters and too-short trousers. The pair looked like the sort of blokes who either didn't bother, or lacked the _means_ to bother, with their apparel. They lurked in the shadows of street signs and away from the revealing glow of lampposts. One had long black hair that swept on either side of his sallow face like a curtain. The latter had white-blonde hair that was being constantly pushed back by his twitchy hands. Both men as pale as crisp oxfords, they would have caught the eye of anyone who happened to pass their way. As it was, they had a certain way around such things.

"Take this ridiculous thing off me, Snape. I don't like not being able to see myself," spat the blonde, younger man out of the corner of his mouth.

"Surprise, surprise," said the other in a mocking tone. He pulled from his pants pocket what looked like a sandpapered-down stick. The blonde rolled his eyes at him.

"Don't know why you bothered with a stupid disillusionment charm anyway. Personally, I think we ought to have-"

"Mr. Malfoy," interrupted the older man in a familiar tone of authority. "Your opinions at the present time mean little to me and I, much unlike yourself, don't enjoy the endless droning of your voice. Now be a good boy and shut. your. MOUTH!"

The blonde smoldered quietly and switched his footing so that his left leg supported his weight. Standing there with a hip jutted out and his pouty lips turned into a frown, he could have been mistaken for his mother. It was a few minutes before he spoke again.

"If my father were here-"

"But he isn't. Lucius is in Azkaban where he belongs. Merlin knows he'll be safer there."

And the sallow faced one's companion seemed to shrink back. He silenced himself immediately and turned to face the other way. After a little while, the other man tapped the stick over the blonde's head. Then he lifted it over his own and repeated the gesture.

"There," he said. The charm was lifted and the two men were now visible standing against the brick wall together.

The blonde shivered slightly from the coolness of the spell. "I could use a drink. I'm thirsty."

"What do you suggest? We strut into the same pub and join them at their table for drinks?"

"I'm tired of stalking outside of buildings and around corners, waiting for a Death Eater attack so we can save the day! We've been following them every fucking minute so far and I can't even stand the sight of them!" His face was turning bright red. "So _you_ decide how to keep them from spotting us because _I_ need a break!"

The man named Snape reached a hand out to hold the other back butthe furious blondewas already halfway through the doorway. Looking very bothered, Snape followed in the blonde's wake.

"Ridiculous boy," he muttered as the door swung softly behind him.

* * *

"Try relaxing and having a drink," Ron Weasley said and his arm shot up in the air to wave over the barmaid behind the counter. Hermione scowled at the scantily clad woman as she walked over to their corner table in the muggle bar. The young woman wore the sly expression of any young woman who has ever had to approach a group of ridiculously attractive people. Hermione squinted at the nametag pinned to the corner of her white, v-neck top. "Brenda" was at their table now and at their service, holding a tiny spiral notepad in her unusually tan hands. The things Brenda must have been thinking as she stood over them and saw all that long red hair, smooth skin, and perfectly sculpted, while not overtly muscular, muscle. The kind of perfection only managed by magical folk, leaving Brenda all the deceived.

"How you blokes doing?" she mewed, taunting her stiff, fake breasts in front of Hermione as if to say, _'How did you get to be so lucky?' _in which Hermione flipped a strand of maple curls over one shoulder in a way she knew said, _'Back off, they're mine. And yes, I am lucky thank you very much.' _

Ron, being of the male species and unsusceptible to such secret codes of women, smiled shyly at Brenda's breasts. Nearly eighteen now and he still blushed like a thirteen-year-old in front of pretty girls. Not, Hermione thought in her seat, that the barmaid was all that pretty. Perhaps if you're _fond_ of obvious good looks such as blonde hair, tan skin, and big breasts (all being fake, of course), she could pass _just_ under the qualifications of semi-attractiveness…but it would still be a stretch. Hermione was by far, by very _very_ far, worlds better looking than Brenda the Barmaid, yet she remained to be the one kink in Ron's weakness. Apparently she just didn't count, as he had argued the topic with her only a few months ago. "You're pretty and all Hermione, but you're not really a girl!" he had yelled, trying desperately to explain himself. "You, Ronald," she had grumbled nastily, "are a prat." And that had been the end of that. Whatever the bloody hell _that_ was.

"Three butterbeers please," piped Harry, who until then had been sitting quietly in-between his two best friends and seemingly drilling holes into the table with his eyes. Brenda the Barmaid gave him a befuddled look, raising an over-plucked eyebrow. A few seconds passed before Hermione jumped in startled realization of the mess-up.

"Sorry. Just three _regular_ beers please," she said, her voice all panicky and tightly strung. Brenda didn't look at Hermione but scribbled something down on her notepad and shot Ron a lasting glance before strutting off, certain to sway her hips as she moved back behind the bar with their order. She assumed they would all be watching her perfectly toned backside as she left them, but truly told, none watched her go. Not even Ron, who was usually rather fond of watching girls from behind. Instead his eyes were on Harry, Hermione's the same, both watching him clasp a hand to his forehead and push roughly against the lightening bolt that scarred it. His brilliant green eyes were streaming with tears that Ron knew were far from welcome.

"Harry," said Hermione softly. She placed a hand over Harry's hand and squeezed it gently. "Are you alright?"

Ron snorted. "Duh Hermione," he said and Hermione glared at him through her chestnut hair. "Blimey, you're supposed the be the _smart_ one." The fire in her eyes may have been dampened by his minuscule compliment because instead of going on her routine tirade of scolds she simply smiled briefly at Ron and turned her eyes back to Harry. She gripped his hand more tightly now, a steadfast expression on her face. Ron gave a slight nod to nothing in particular and moved his head in closer to Harry's, putting an arm around his slight, seeker-sculpted shoulders. He could almost breathe in the jet-black hair as the scents filled his nostrils: honey, flowers, dirt, sweat, and blood. Some of it his own, most of it not. And the three of them remained in that solemn position until they were knocked out of it by Brenda the Barmaid with their drinks, which they accepted with hesitance. Brenda grinned and winked at Ron then left, swaying her hips again.

They sat it silence, sipping. Ron tried not to choke on the foul liquid but it was harshly bitter compared to butterbeer and terribly muggle-ish. He scanned Harry and Hermione with his sky-blue eyes and was pleased to see they were thinking the same thing as he. Eager for light conversation, the redhead spoke.

"Well this is shite."

Hermione sighed. She had been doing that a lot lately Ron noticed, but Harry giggled, nearly spraying the beer out of his mouth.

"You'd think that blokes who were _Great English Poets_ would be more capable of brewing something that didn't taste like hippogriff piss," Harry said quietly after swallowing. He and Ron cast each other looks before breaking up into uncontrollable laughter. Hermione, who had long since given up on her muggle drink and had begun reading a book titled none other than "_Great English Poets_", slammed its pages shut and glowered, writhing with annoyance.

"I wouldn't expect you two to understand great literature, but you should know that John Keats wrote some of the most spectacular, inspirational-

"Shite," Ron and Harry finished in unison, falling again into fits of laughter around a seething Hermione. Ron was gasping for breath when she finally punched him in the shoulder, by which he responded with a groan of protest.

"How lucky the both of you are, to forget everything that is happening to us with such ease. Harry's scar is supposedly searing one moment, and in the next you're in hysterics!"

Ron and Harry hung their heads in shame, though they were really just hiding the smiles on their faces that they couldn't seem to get rid of. Hermione was absolutely livid to their endless amusement. She, quite contrastively, did not find her two companions amusing, nor did she appreciate their outright disrespect for her reading material, the days upon days without a proper bed to sleep in _or_ a place to wash her face and do ordinary girly things, which she never usually opted doing before but had since recently been longing. And above all of these things, she didn't appreciate being driven to the point of hallucination by exhaustion. For at the present time, Hermione was surely hallucinating the two familiar wizards exiting the pub. Was it not the unmistakable back of her former professor's head that was leaving, and the equally identifiable blonde haired Slytherin bobbing behind in his intimidating shadow? Hermione exhaled slowly. She had not been hallucinating.

Ron conjured the nerve to look up after he was sure his smile was well hidden by his hand. But when he followed Hermione's intense stare, his hand as well as his jaw dropped in surprise.

"Bloody hell," he croaked, his voice resonating with an unaccustomed hoarseness. Harry looked up, first at Ron who was sitting rigid with a stony gaze fixed on the door, then at Hermione who was shaking her head.

"What?" Harry asked excitedly, his hand instinctively closing over the wand hidden inside his jacket. Hermione was still shaking her head in disbelief very slowly back and forth, her fingertips lightly touching her bottom lip. "Well?" Harry pressed anxiously, still casting looks back and forth between the catatonic persons. "Is someone going to explain to me why the two of you look like you've just been petrified?" He waved a hand in front of Ron's face just to make sure. He couldn't stop his small sigh of relief when Ron blinked twice and looked up at him. His eyes were misty like he had been in a daze.

"Well?" Harry said, getting frustrated, his temper rising. It took Ron a few more blinks to register the question.

"Oh," he finally resorted with. But then he fell silent once more, looking at Hermione desperately for help. She was biting her lip and running a shaky hand through her hair.

"Hermione? Ron? You're both acting completely mental," Harry said as he nudged Hermione lightly on the arm. His touch seemed to launch her back to reality, for she blinked rapidly and turned to Harry with large, amber eyes.

"Did you just see?" she asked, her voice at an unusually high pitch. Harry shook his head and sighed in vexation.

"No! I've been telling you! I've no idea what's going on!" Harry said louder than he intended. Brenda the Barmaid looked up from her position behind the bar and gave him an odd look. He shrugged at her apologetically and lowered his voice to continue. "So, what's up?"

Hermione cast her eyes to Ron for a split second as if to confirm something before placing a hand on Harry's shoulder and leaning in closely.

"Promise not to freak out, Harry," she said coolly. Harry opened his mouth to retort but Hermione interrupted him. "Promise." He closed his mouth and nodded slowly, wondering what could be so important. He thought he saw Ron biting his fingernails in his peripheral vision.

"Ron and I," she looked at Ron again, who nodded at her gravely and gave Harry a sympathetic look followed by a _Please don't go barking mad when she tells you this_ look. "Ron and I," she repeated, possibly conjuring nerve, "might have, just _might_ have…seen Professor Snape and Malfoy leaving this pub about a minute ago."

The three friends stirred in uncomfortable silence as Hermione's words settled in the air. Harry, whose wand was gripped so tightly in his hands now that his knuckles were stark white, was fuming silently in his seat. He hovered slightly in such a way that he was neither sitting nor standing. In this position he remained for several confused seconds until Hermione sighed and finally pushed him back down into his seat, the decision of what to do with himself made for him. He wanted to thank her but every word Harry had ever known was gone from his vocabulary.

"Harry? You all right mate?" Ron asked, leaning in closely. Harry was sweating slightly and his body was radiating a hybrid swirl of anxiety, fury, and hope. Unmistakable hope.

"I…" he began, wanting to be careful. He shot a glance at Hermione, who was appraising him warily under heavy and tired lids. He stumbled over the next words as they poured out of his mouth. "I…think we should…go after them. We all have a bit of unfinished business, I…I think."

Ron responded first. "Oh, we definitely do!"

Hermione responded second. "We shouldn't," she said. "Now is not the time to be rash and the two of you know it."

Her male companions grumbled at her and she resisted the urge to knock them both on their arses.

"Besides, it may not have been them," she reasoned.

"It was them, 'Mione. I saw the same thing you did and it was definitely them," Ron countered, tensing in his chair. Harry shuddered despondently.

"If it _was_ them," he started, mindlessly taking a sip from his muggle drink, "in about two minutes I'll be getting up from this table and leaving to follow them."

"Harry-" Hermione began but the dark haired boy shot her down immediately.

"I told you before. If I run into Severus Snape, all the better for me and all-"

"All the worse for him," Hermione finished for him. "I know. Ron and I _both_ know. We wouldn't think it cowardice to forget about that silly threat now."

"It was a _vow_. And I have no intentions of forgetting about it," Harry hissed at her. "In case you've forgotten, Snape murdered Dumbledore and was behind the murder of my parents! Not to mention his service to Voldemort has been verified. He's the Halfblood Prince! The last time I saw him he was running away with Malfoy and shooting hexes at me." Harry's anger was rising, boiling up inside him wildly. He took a deep breath and chugged the rest of the beer. This made Ron raise his eyebrows in mingled disgust and amazement. Harry glowered but Hermione matched his ferocity.

"You can't go getting yourself killed because of a grudge. We find the horcruxes first. Snape and Malfoy have to come second," she snapped at him. Ron made a strange squeaking noise as he looked back and forth between Hermione and Harry. Neither had taken well to each other's orders lately.

"You call Dumbledore's death a grudge?" Harry shouted at her. The two of them were standing up now and Ron was cowering somewhere off to the side. Brenda the Barmaid was staring at them as were a few other unsuspecting muggles draped at the bar.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Hermione said, realizing angrily that she had backed herself into an inescapable corner. "It would be dangerous to follow them. Even foolish. They would have apparated by now anyway." She rested a hand on Harry's shoulder and steadied her voice, trying to calm them both. "We should forget about it. There are greater, more important things than your revenge on Snape."

"Don't forget Malfoy, too!" Ron added and Hermione quirked an eyebrow at her ginger haired friend.

"Right. Malfoy, too. Let's forget about the both of them."

Harry sank back into his seat and shrugged his shoulders. Hermione and Ron sat down as well. Brenda let out a little sigh as they did so. She had probably been expecting a huge brawl in the middle of her pub. Harry's friends had been expecting one as well, perhaps.

"I'll forget about it," Harry said. "This time."

Hermione stifled a groan as she too downed her muggle beer. Ron whimpered and raised his own glass to his lips.

"Can't be the only one with a sober head now, can I?" he said and he jerked it down.


End file.
